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These murder club meetings are becoming a regular thing. We need a newname, though.

This time we're at a coffee shop in downtown San Diego, crammed into aback table because our numbers keep expanding. Kris came with me, andAshton with Addy. Bronwyn's got all her Post-it notes on a bunch of manilafolders, including the newest one: Simon paid two kids to stage a caraccident. She says Sam Barron promised to call Eli and let him know. Howthat'll help Nate, I have no idea.

"Why'd you pick this place, Bronwyn?" Addy asks. "Kind of out of theway."

Bronwyn clears her throat and makes a big production of rearranging herPost-it notes. "No reason. So, anyway." She shoots a businesslike lookaround the table. "Thanks for coming. Maeve and I keep going over thisstuff and it never makes any sense. We thought a meeting of the mindsmight help."

Maeve and Ashton return from the counter, balancing our orders on acouple of recyclable trays. They hand drinks around, and I watch Krismethodically open five packets of sugar and dump them into his latte."What?" he asks, catching my expression. He's in a green polo shirt thatbrings out his eyes, and he looks really, really good. That still seems like thekind of thing I'm not supposed to notice.

"You like sugar, huh?" It's a dumb thing to say. What I mean is, I have noidea how you take your coffee because this is the first time we've been outin public together. Kris presses his lips together, which shouldn't beattractive but is. I feel awkward and jittery and accidentally bump his kneeunder the table.

"Nothing wrong with that," Addy says, tipping her cup against Kris's.The liquid inside hers is so pale it barely resembles coffee.

Kris and I have been spending more time together, but it doesn't feelnatural yet. Maybe I'd gotten used to the sneaking around, or maybe Ihaven't come to terms with the fact that I'm dating a guy. I found myselfkeeping my distance from Kris when we walked from my car to the coffeeshop, because I didn't want people guessing what we are to each other.I hate that part of me. But it's there.

Bronwyn has some kind of steaming tea that looks too hot to drink. Shepushes it aside and props one of the manila folders against the wall. "Here'sall the stuff we know about Simon: He was going to post rumors about us.He paid two kids to stage a car accident. He was depressed. He had a creepyonline persona. He and Janae seemed on the outs. He had a thing for Keely.He used to be friends with Jake. Am I missing anything?""He deleted my original About That entry," I say.

"Not necessarily," Bronwyn corrects. "Your entry was deleted. We don'tknow by whom."

Fair enough, I guess.

"And here's what we know about Jake," Bronwyn continues. "He wroteat least one of the Tumblr posts, or helped somebody else write it. Hewasn't in the school building when Simon died, according to Luis. He--""Is a complete control freak," Ashton interrupts. Addy opens her mouthin protest, but Ashton cuts her off. "He is, Addy. He ran every part of yourlife for three years. Then as soon as you did something he didn't like, heblew up." Bronwyn scribbles Jake is a control freak on a Post-it with anapologetic glance at Addy.

"It's a data point," Bronwyn says. "Now, what if--"The front door bangs and she goes bright red. "What a coincidence." Ifollow her gaze and see a young guy with wild hair and a scruffy beardenter the coffee shop. He looks familiar, but I can't place him. He spotsBronwyn with an exasperated expression that turns alarmed when he takesin Addy and me.

He holds a hand in front of his face. "I don't see you. Any of you." Thenhe catches sight of Ashton and does a classic double take, almost trippingover his feet. "Oh, hi. You must be Addy's sister."Ashton blinks, confused, looking between him and Bronwyn. "Do I knowyou?"

"This is Eli Kleinfelter," Bronwyn says. "He's with Until Proven. Theiroffices are upstairs. He's, um, Nate's lawyer.""Who cannot talk to you," Eli says, like he just remembered. He givesAshton a lingering look, but turns away and heads for the counter. Ashtonshrugs and blows on her coffee. I'm sure she's used to having that effect onguys.

Addy's eyes are round as she watches Eli's retreating back. "God,Bronwyn. I can't believe you stalked Nate's lawyer."Bronwyn looks almost as embarrassed as she should be, taking theenvelope I'd given her out of her backpack. "I wanted to see if Sam Barronever got in touch, and pass along his information if he hadn't. I thought if Iran into Eli casually, he might talk to me. Guess not." She darts a hopefullook at Ashton. "I bet he'd talk to you, though."Addy locks her hands on her hips and juts her chin in outrage. "You can'tpimp out my sister!"

Ashton smiles wryly and holds out her hand for the envelope. "As longas it's for a good cause. What am I supposed to say?""Tell him he was right--that the car accident at Bayview the day Simondied was staged. The envelope has contact information for the boy Simonpaid to do it."

Ashton heads for the counter, and we all sip our drinks in silence. Whenshe returns a minute later, the envelope's still in her hand. "Sam calledhim," she confirms. "He said he's looking into it, he appreciates theinformation, and you should mind your fucking business. That's a directquote."

Bronwyn looks relieved and not at all insulted. "Thank you. That's goodnews. So, where were we?"

"Simon and Jake," Maeve says, propping her chin in one hand as shegazes at the two manila folders. "They're connected. But how?""Excuse me," Kris says mildly, and everyone looks at him like they'dforgotten he was at the table. Which they probably had. He's been quietsince we got here.

Maeve tries to make up for it by giving him an encouraging smile."Yeah?"

"I wonder," Kris says. His English is unaccented and almost perfect, withjust a little formality that hints he's from someplace else. "There has alwaysbeen so much focus on who was in the room. That's why the policeoriginally targeted the four of you. Because it would be almost impossiblefor anyone who wasn't in the room to kill Simon. Right?""Right," I say.

"So." Kris removes two Post-its from one of the folders. "If the killerwasn't Cooper, or Bronwyn, or Addy, or Nate--and nobody thinks theteacher who was there could have had anything to do with it--who doesthat leave?" He layers one Post-it on top of the other on the wall next to thebooth, then sits back and looks at us with polite attentiveness.

Simon was poisoned during detention

Simon was depressed

We're all silent for a long minute, until Bronwyn exhales a small gasp."I'm the omniscient narrator," she says.

"What?" Addy asks.

"That's what Simon said before he died. I said there wasn't any suchthing in teen movies, and he said there was in life. Then he drained hisdrink in one gulp." Bronwyn turns and calls "Eli!" but the door's alreadyclosing behind Nate's lawyer.

"So you're saying ..." Ashton stares around the table until her eyes landon Kris. "You think Simon committed suicide?" Kris nods. "But why? Whylike that?"

"Let's go back to what we know," Bronwyn says. Her voice is almostclinical, but her face is flushed brick red. "Simon was one of those peoplewho thought he should be at the center of everything, but wasn't. And hewas obsessed with the idea of making some kind of huge, violent splash atschool. He fantasized about it all the time on those 4chan threads. What ifthis was his version of a school shooting? Kill himself and take a bunch ofstudents down with him, but in an unexpected way. Like framing them formurder." She turns to her sister. "What did Simon say on 4chan, Maeve? Dosomething original. Surprise me when you take out a bunch of lemmingassholes."

Maeve nods. "Exact quote, I think."

I think about how Simon died--choking, panicked, trying to catch hisbreath. If he really did it to himself, I wish more than ever we'd found hisdamn EpiPen. "I think he regretted it at the end," I say, the weight of thewords settling heavy on my heart. "He looked like he wanted help. If hecould've gotten medication in time, maybe a close call like that would'vejolted him into being a different kind of guy."Kris's hand squeezes mine under the table. Bronwyn and Addy both looklike they're back in the room where Simon died, horrified and stunned.They know I'm right. Silence descends and I think we might be done untilMaeve looks over at the Post-it wall and sucks in her cheeks.

"But how does Jake fit in?" she asks.

Kris hesitates and clears his throat, like he's waiting for permission tospeak. When nobody protests he says, "If Jake isn't Simon's killer, he mustbe his accomplice. Someone had to keep things going after Simon died."He meets Bronwyn's eyes, and some kind of understanding passesbetween them. They're the brains of this operation. The rest of us are justtrying to keep up. Kris's hand pulled away from mine while he was talking,and I take it back.

"Simon found out about Addy and TJ," Bronwyn says. "Maybe that'show he approached Jake in the first place to get his help. Jake would'vewanted revenge, because he--"

A chair scrapes noisily beside me as Addy pushes herself away from thetable. "Stop," she says in a choked voice, her purple-streaked hair fallinginto her eyes. "Jake wouldn't ... He couldn't ...""I think we've had enough for one night," Ashton says firmly, getting toher feet. "You guys keep going, but we need to get home.""Sorry, Addy," Bronwyn says with a chagrined expression. "I got carriedaway."

Addy waves a hand. "It's fine," she says unsteadily. "I just ... can't rightnow." Ashton links arms with her until they get to the door; then she pulls itopen and lets Addy slip through ahead of her.

Maeve watches them, her chin in her hands. "She has a point. The wholething sounds impossible, doesn't it? And even if we're right, we can't proveanything." She looks hopefully at Kris, as though she's willing him to workmore Post-it magic.

Kris shrugs and taps the colored square closest to him. "Perhaps there'sone person remaining who knows something useful."Janae seems depressed

Bronwyn and Maeve leave around nine, and Kris and I don't stay muchlonger. We gather up the table debris that's left and deposit it in the trashcan next to the exit. We're both quiet, coming off one of the weirdest datesin history.

"Well," Kris says, pushing through the door and pausing on the sidewalkto wait for me. "That was interesting." Before he can say anything else Igrab him and press him against the coffee shop wall, my fingers digginginto his hair and my tongue sliding between his teeth in a deep, wantingkiss. He makes a sound like a surprised growl and pulls me hard against hischest. When another couple exits through the door and we break apart, helooks dazed.

He straightens his shirt and runs a hand over his hair. "Thought you'dforgotten how to do that."

"I'm sorry." My voice thickens with the need to kiss him again. "It's notthat I didn't want to. It's just--"

"I know." Kris laces his fingers in mine and holds our hands up like aquestion. "Yes?"

"Yes," I say, and we start down the sidewalk together.

Nate

Wednesday, November 7, 11:30 p.m.

So here's how you deal with being locked up.

You keep your mouth shut. Don't talk about your life or why you'rethere. Nobody cares unless they want to use it against you.

You don't take shit from anyone. Ever. Juvenile detention's not Oz, butpeople will still fuck with you if they think you're weak.

You make friends. I use the term loosely. You identify the least shittypeople you can find and associate with them. Moving around in a pack isuseful.

You don't break rules, but you look the other way when someone elsedoes.

You work out and watch television. A lot.

You stay under the guards' radar as much as possible. Including theoverly friendly woman who keeps offering to let you make calls from heroffice.

You don't complain about how slowly time passes. When you've beenarrested for a capital offense and you're four months away from youreighteenth birthday, days that crawl by are your friends.

You come up with new ways to answer your lawyer's endless questions.Yeah, I leave my locker open sometimes. No, Simon's never been to myhouse. Yeah, we saw each other outside of school sometimes. The last time?Probably when I was selling him weed. Sorry, we're not supposed to talkabout that, are we?

You don't think about what's outside. Or who. Especially if she's betteroff forgetting you exist.